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Browsing Category Libation

My taste buds are always up for an adventure. Especially if that adventure includes hops and malted barely. I’ve plowed through my fair share of small craft samplers over the years, but never truly took the time to appreciate how good (and sometimes bad) the collections may be.

Until now.

Spring means Spring seasonals, most of which are citrusy and wheaty, which are juxtaposed to my normal beer-pallete, which is fickle and likes what it likes.

I decided to pick up two non-seasonal samplers that contained at least three of a beer I already liked, so I could at the very least enjoy one fourth of my purchase should the other nine turn out to be rancid.

Sampler #1: Smuttynose Variety Sampler

I tried my first Smuttynose (Pumpkin Ale) last fall, at the behest of my fellow beer enthusiast Justin. As one who has a voracious appetite of any combination of fruit and alcohol, I was eager to try it. Last fall alone, I tried nine new pumpkin ale varieties and I would place Smuttynose PA near the top of that list.

This sampler came all the way from Portsmouth, NH, which is the sister city to Nichinan, Japan. I don’t quite get the box or label art (maybe it’d make more sense if I was sitting on a porch of some old house in New Hampshire), but I’m not one of those weird snobs who turns his nose up at a beer based on the bottle it comes in.

Clipper City Brewing Company of Baltimore, MD, is basically in my backyard. For those of you who don’t know Baltimore, the entire city is infused with nautical themes; an 1854 sloop-of-war (the USS Constellation) sits anchored in the harbor. I’m always a sucker for local beers, getting a giddy squeal of delight when I see “brewed in Maryland” on the label or packaging.

Heavy Seas, a pirate themed series of beers that boasts plenty of Chesapeake Bay charm. I’m sure any of these would make a marvelous match for some fresh blue crab. An additional gimmick with this sampler is that you’re given a mystery beer, marked with an iconic “X” on the box.

The names and label design of these brews is delightfully silly and clever:

I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first? Bad? OK.

The Bad: Bud Light Platinum

At my sister’s urging, I finally bought a six pack of Bud Light Platinum (BL:P). I should qualify that I almost never drink anything from AB InBev, as I prefer my beer to taste like, well, beer. But my sister went on and on about how BL:P tastes like actual beer, and being a good brother, I thought I’d at least give it a try.

I’ve had three so far, as I refuse to judge a beer from a single experience. I poured the first I into a traditional pint glass, hoping to make it more palatable. This was a mistake. Do not do this. Most beers open up and benefit from a little air, but in the case of BL:P, you should strive to keep it in the bottle at all times. Releasing it from its glass fetters is like unleashing the evils of Pandora’s box unto the world.

It smells like a field of corn, just after the first harvest, when the chaff and leftover stalks are decaying in the late summer sun. It is an unnatural yellow. You can’t really compare it to urine, as it has a subtle hint of orange or brown. It bubbles ferociously even after the measly head has dissipated, almost as if it is warning you not to drink it.

If the smell is bad, the taste is far, far worse. Original Bud Light is drinkable if served basically frozen and consumed very quickly. BL:P is drinkable, compared to bleach. It has the same acrid rice-malt taste as other high(er) alcohol lager-clones, reminding me of my days in college when Milwaukee’s Best Ice was the beer of choice. The over-carbonation burns your mouth like straight from the bottle Pepsi, followed by a worrisome aftertaste that really makes you want to brush your teeth.

As it gradually gets warm in the glass, the smell becomes even more pungent, and the taste more overwhelmingly awful. I have had 40 oz malt liquor that was smoother and more satisfying that this mess of malts and yeast. I used to think Bud Light was as bad as beer could get, but this weekend, I was proven wrong.

I suppose the “point” of this beer is its 6% ABV. That’s 1.8% higher than regular Bud Light, putting it above most other comparable beers (most “Ice” varieties come in at 5.9%) and other craft brews. It comes in at 137 calories per bottle, making it on the lower end compared to others in the same category. If you can stomach the taste, this stuff will go straight to your head.

The redeeming factor is that it comes in a very pretty cerulean blue bottle. It’s sort of a cross between a Bawls and a Zeema. If the label were not etched on (or painted, or burned, or however the hell it is attached), I’d be tempted to recycle these bottles for home brew.

I’m not going to bother giving this any kind of numerical rating, because I think that would be offensive to the numerical rating system. Let’s just all agree that it is really bad. If you just want to get drunk, save yourself time and money and just buy some Olde English 800. Same crap, bigger bottle.

BL:P makes Dead Guy Ale glass sad.

The Good: Newcastle Founder’s Ale

While swallowing my pride and buying something as embarrassing as BL:P, I also came across something delightful. I was confused by the green label, as I’m so used to the iconic yellow. Sitting right by the entrance to my favorite beer wonderland sat Newcastle Founder’s Ale; a British style pale ale from the brewers of the well known Newcastle Brown Ale.

Anyone who knows me well can attest to my fondness for any pale ale. My staples are usually British (Bass, Young’s, Fuller’s) but I’ve grown to love American variations as well. I pretty much fall all over myself to try new kinds. I also really like Newcastle Brown on occasion, so imagine my childlike glee when I found a pale ale bearing their name and logo.

I rinsed the putrid remains of the BL:P from my pint glass, and filled it with the contents of the green, starred bottle. The color is a nice, golden brown; reminiscent of the top of a perfectly cooked pound cake. It forms a nice head, nothing too showy, that remains for a few seconds while the beer settles. I imagine the beer room in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory (and there definitely is one, in the “Children Over 21 Only” area) smells something like this beer. Subtle caramel. Sweet maltiness. A tiny bit of flowery hop.

It’s taste is surprisingly mellow. Even Bass – a less intense pale ale in the grand scheme – has a little bite to it. Founder’s Ale is smooth and delicate, almost to the point of being watery. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as it makes the beer incredibly drinkable, and leaves no bitter or hoppy aftertaste. At one point, I lifted an empty glass to my lips, having finish the beer without even realizing it.

Some people, especially those fond of IPAs, might expect more taste from a 4.8% ABV, 144 calorie beer. If you’re used to sharp flavors and the in-your-face hoppiness of Dogfish Head Shelter Pale or Harpoon IPA, this beer may come off as weak and somewhat bland. However, I think this beer fits in well with Newcastle Brown brand; a beer often advertised as being anything but heavy and bitter. This is a great Friday night pale ale, especially when paired with a somewhat heavy meal.

Overall, I’d give it an 85 out of 100. It’s tasty and drinkable, but a tad more hop and a little less water would have made for a very fine beer. As it stands, it is definitely worth a taste, and well worth picking up if you can find it.

Tis the season for bad sweaters, spiked soy egg nog, misteltoe, and 50’s era Christmas music that has yet to be bested.

It’s also time I bottled the cider-mead! It’s been bubbling in my kitchen for just under three months, and I think it’s time to let it age in smaller bottles.

Mmmm.

I’ve sampled the goods and am pleased with the result. It’s clearly more mead than it is cider, but there is a very slight effervescence that is discernible in the first sips. Using my very scientific method of guessing based on other alcohol I’ve consumed, I’d place the ABV is on the higher end, at ~15-16%. It has very little alcohol taste. If you’re not careful and swallow several large gulps of it while siphoning it into bottles, the alcohol can sneak up on you. True story.

The taste is subtle, but nice. There are soft pear tones up front and it’s slightly crisp and fruity. The smell is similar to most other meads, but as it’s a homebrew and I only decanted once, there is a very slight wine-yeast smell. The full taste is clearly mead with a strong honey finish. It tastes almost like a pear-infused mead, and any hope of a pure cider are pretty far gone at this point.

These photos don’t quite do the color justice. It’s a very pretty opaque yellow that diffuses nicely in direct sun light. A few people have sampled it so far, and I’ve gotten positive results.

The lady who gave me the pears offered the following review:

Good – sweet but not too sweet. Clear pear flavor at first but a lot of honey taste in the body of the wine. A bit yeasty, but not in a bad way. Almost a little bit of bread and butter in the after taste, if anything. I’d give it 86/100.

For something I threw together in an afternoon, I’ll take it!

Om nom.

I’m going to play around with some other ideas, like priming some bottles to see if I can get a slightly carbonated effect. The pear flavors could make this into an excellent sparkling wine, but I don’t want to overpower the sweetness of the honey with too much of a carbonation bite. While it is drinkable and quite tasty at this point, it could probably benefit from a bit of aging, so I’ll definitely put a few bottles aside to see how they taste come spring.

I might try to do another mead (or actually a cider this time) for my next project. Any ideas?

When I started this blog over a year ago, I had intended to occasionally chronicle my brewing adventures. Since then, I’ve broken my arm, transitioned into a new job with a new company, and gotten engaged. I’ve been a tad otherwise occupied.

But I digress. Here be the first in a randomly timed collection of intimate guides into my haphazard brewing process! Maybe the “libation” part of the title can actually be relevant, instead of an abstract homage to my propensity to write while intoxicated.

Pear Cider-Mead

All of the ingredients, minus water.

I call it “Cider-mead” because I didn’t commit to either in the brewing process. The ratio of juice to honey is rather random, which will yield either a very strong, sweet cider, or a very light, sweet wine. It’s in the hands of the fates now.

A very nice coworker of mine, Deb, jokingly (or so I thought) offered me a bevy of pears from her trees. I accepted, not expecting her to actually follow through. A few days later, in she walked with a 5 gallon bucket full to the brim with slowly ripening, pear shaped fruit-things.

I decided to do the the only decent thing a person can do when given dozens of pounds of fruit: make booze!

I forgot to take a picture before I started, so here is the bucket after I'd had my way with it.

I had planned to just do a cut and dry cider, using a very beer-like process. But after reading about how honey and pears seem to form some sort of angelic union in-fermentation-utero, I opted for the slightly more elaborate (and sweet!) option.

Step 1: Cut them things up!

I halved, and then halved, and then halved, and then halved them.

It’s a good idea to remove as many seeds as possible as they tend to add bitterness to the pear juice, but don’t spend hours trying to dig out every little guy that just refuses to leave his delicious fleshy home. I hadn’t washed the pears yet, but for good reason.

I continued to chop them up until I had halfway filled my pre-sterilized (figured I wouldn’t bore you with pictures of me cleaning stuff) mash pot. This was about 40 pears worth of choppings. If you do this yourself, do not wait until the pears are ripe; they’ll be too squishy to cut without making a huge mess, and a lot of the sugars that will make the cider-mead delicious are already starting to break down.

No need to remove the cores.

Step 2: Wash them things!

Since these were from a farm, and a good number of them had been on the ground, or played home to spiders/bees, it was important to wash them pretty thoroughly. I waited to wash them after they were cut up for three reasons: 1) it’s faster, 2) it will knock out any extra loose seeds, and 3) it helps to soak them a tiny bit before juicing them. Make sure you use very cold water. Rinse them until the water runs clear and the large seeds/chunks of gross crap are gone.

Wash your hands before you wash the pears, if that isn't a given.

Step 3: Juice them things!

This part can either be super easy, or damn near impossible, depending on how equipped you are. The best way to juice them is manually; read: smash them with something big and heavy. This isn’t always practical, especially if the fruit in question is still pretty firm. Manually mashing them into a pulp and then squeezing the pulp through a muslin bag/cheese cloth will yield the nicest, tastiest juice.

That being said, it’s absolutely impossible. After 20 minutes of standing over the mash pot, armed with a potato masher and my Herculean will, I gave up and stuck them in a food processor/juicer (I know, I suck, shut up).

This does not work. Do not try.

Despite the shame I brought upon my Viking ancestors, using the food processors was much, much, much easier. ~40 pears yielded about 7-8 pints of delicious pear juice. I only needed 92 ounces based on the random recipe I made up in my head, so I drank the last glass and a half, feeling very pleased with myself. One note: the juice will start to brown almost immediately. Be sure you have you mash pot ready before you finish juicing all the fruit.

Looks like stout, but it's not. Or maybe it is. I can't remember.

Step 4: Mix them things up!

Time to actually make the pre-mead, or the must. I always confuse wort (pre-beer) and must (pre-wine), and I don’t even know if there is one for cider. I call it all pre-whatever-it-is; must simpler. Much simpler.

Take your newly juiced juice and add it to your mash pot. If you have an electric stove, it will take a good while for the 5 gallon pot to heat up to appropriate pasteurization temperature. Crank it up as high as it will go; I promise it will still take approximately forever to get to ~200 degrees. The must (erm, pre-cider-mead) will look pretty gross at this point; that’s OK.

Looks like Orc mischief to me.

Next, dump in a ton of water. 2.5-3 gallons should do. I used Deer Park™, but you can use anything that is clear and doesn’t have weird micro organisms living in it. Distilled water is a no-no as it doesn’t contain the right minerals, but tap water might have all kinds of other weird shit in it, so I can’t recommend that either.

Once you’ve added the water, and added to the time it will take your massive pot to reach any temperature beyond luke-warm, it’s time to add the secret, not-so-secret ingredient!

I'll give you a hint: it's made by bees and is called honey.

As per the recipe that came to me in a dream, I added 9 lbs of honey that I bought from Trader Joes™. Make sure you stir it all together so that the honey doesn’t just settle at the bottom. Hopefully your massive tankard of developing joy has gotten slightly warmer, and the honey will dissolve without issue. I also threw in some cinnamon and vanilla extract because I’m recklessly impulsive and they were just sitting there.

Now we wait. And wait. And wait some more. Best to clean up the huge mess you presumably made doing all of the prior (or was that just me), before you fiancee gets home and freaks out because the house is covered in a fine mist of pear juice.

You’re waiting for the must to reach ~190 F. This is very hard to judge if you don’t like have a thermometer like me. I do the “stick your finger in to see if it burns you” trick to get a rough estimate. I know our water heater says that 150 F water coming from the sink can scold your skin in 4 seconds, so I base my whole temperature pseudo-science around that.

Once I’ve burned my finger correctly, I turn the heat off, and prep the pre-washed fermentation bucket. Against all logic and advice offered by professionals, I added ice to the bucket to cool the must as soon as it was added to the bucket. The goal is to get the must to room temperature (~75 F) as quickly as possible, so that you can add your last ingredient.

Step 5: Yeast them things up!

Once the must has cooled appropriately (or not, I was impatient and added it when the must was still warm) you can add your yeast. This is my first time using a pre-suspended liquid yeast, but it turned out to be pretty damn simple. Shake, open, pour, stir, seal, done.

All yeast smells like beer...or vice versa.

Now we’re basically done! I stirred the whole mixture one more time to make sure the yeast had enough oxygen to start the fermentation process, then seal the lid with a little airlock.

Now we just want and listen for the happy sound of bubbling. In about 2 weeks I can rack the cider-mead into a glass carboy and be able to see the fruit of my labor (pun stretched, and intended). Should be ready some time around Thanksgiving!